Written In Our Skies
by myshipsaresunk
Summary: Wanda is the thinker, Pietro the do-er, and together nothing is too difficult. They've always had each other, no matter what. Here is a collection of short stories depicting their adventures before they joined Earth's Mightiest Heroes.
1. The Beginning

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel's Avengers: Age of Ultron

Rating: T for violence

Author's Note: My one-shots on Wanda and Pietro turned out to be very popular, so I've decided to create a fanfic of short stories of them before the events of Age of Ultron. Please enjoy, and feel free to check out my other Marvel works! (I do notknow how many chapters this will turn out to be)

Story 1: The Beginning

Wanda runs through her home. It isn't a nice house, and there's hardly any furniture, but to her parents and her twin brother, it is home. Their parents sleep on a mattress in the kitchen by the fireplace, and the only other rooms are the twin's bedroom, the entry hall, and the bathroom. Small, but large enough. They are thankful they have as many as four rooms in such a desolate and poverty-filled country.

Pietro follows her into the kitchen, but not quickly enough to beat her. She instantly reaches for her mother, who's setting the tiny table with their cracked and stained cutlery. Their mother turns, a wooden spoon in her hand as she looks at her children sternly.

"What now?" she exclaims in an Eastern-European language.

"Pietro took my things," Wanda says. "He took my favorite doll."

Pietro only looks a little ashamed, though he looks up with his adorable, angelical eyes. He's such a cute ten-year old, and it's a good thing he's so cute because he's a kleptomaniac and an overall master of mischief.

"Pietro!" Their mother points the wooden spoon at him threateningly. "What have I told you? Time and time again?"

Wanda looks satisfied as Pietro rolls his eyes and hands over the raggedy doll. Wanda clutches it close and beams up at her mother. The woman sighs, places the spoon on the table, and kneels down to their level.

"Your father is getting home soon, and you know how tired he is," she tells them gently. "All this racket and mischief has to stop soon. Settle down, or go run outside. Give him some space. You know how hard he works for what little we have. Don't take things from each other, and please, don't bother him." Then she smiles cruelly. "Or I'll make you help me. There's always cleaning to be done, food to be prepared, and laundry to wash, and you two are just the perfect candidates. What do you say, eh?"

Pietro squirms away, a disgusted expression on his face. "We'll go outside and not bother you anymore. Come on, Wanda." He pulls on her hand and they run out of the house, slamming the door behind them.

"One day she'll make good on her threat," Wanda warns him. "Just you wait and see."

"If she can catch me," Pietro replies, sprinting away. His sister follows, though she isn't as fast as he. No one is quite as fast as her brother when he starts running. Finally he slows down enough for her to catch up. "You now you're a tattle-tale, don't you?"

"And you're a thief," she shoots back, her eyebrows raising. He smiles. "That I am." The twins start running again.

They weave in and out of alleys in the neighbourhood and cause a lot of ruckus for a while. When they hear their mother calling from the doorway of their house they head back, all their energy spent. Mother points to the well, instructs them to wash off, then herds them into the house. Their father is sitting wearily at the table, a plate of steaming food in front of them.

Taking their seats at the table, the twins pile up their plates with the simple meat and stew. While their family isn't destitute, they aren't exactly well off, either. Meals are twice a day and simple, and the only furnishing in their house is the table, chairs, wood stove, a mattress their parents move to the kitchen and sleep on, and a rusty old bed frame with a straw mattress in the twin's room. Their father works hard every day to make sure they have that much.

Pietro immediately starts digging in, but Wanda elbows him in the side. He looks over innocently, cheeks puffed out with food. Their mother takes her seat and glares at him.

"Before we eat we'll say a blessing," she comments, the sentence directly aimed at Pietro. He swallows quickly and smiles back guiltily.

They eat dinner in near silence, and in the middle of the meal their mother stands up and reaches into the stove. "I almost forgot," she says. "Today when I did the governor's laundry he tipped me extra. I managed to get a good deal on some flour and oil." She pulls a small loaf of bread out, cooked golden brown. Bread is a rare treat, and after dividing it in four pieces the family used it to clean out their plates.

After dinner the family cleans up, talking while they do. This is how they bond, through work. Wanda and Pietro tell about school—what little education they get, since the "school" is not much more than a young woman being paid to teach poor children simple maths, sciences, history, and reading—and their father talks about the mine and how no new coal hotspots have been discovered lately.

"Does that mean…" their mother trails off, a worried expression dancing on her face.

"It might," Father confirms, a serious expression on his face. "I'm going to start searching for a new job tomorrow after my shift. Things might get tight."

Their mother exhales deeply. "While I washed the governor's laundry I overheard one of his conversations with another official." She lowers her voice. "Terrorists are getting closer and closer every day. Any day they'll be upon our village."

"And what's to stop them?" Father asks bitterly. "There's nothing here, just an odd collection of tiny homes and poverty-stricken people. We're just another little village taking up the space. The authorities will probably be glad we're gone."

"There's talk of a man who's trying to stop the terrorists," Mother replies. "Stark. He's an American, a rich one. He got his fortune off of designing and selling weapons. He'll do anything to stop the terrorists, and he's not afraid of collateral damage."

"I detest rich men like I detest the devil. They think they can do anything, can control anyone. They're all bad, do you hear me?" He turns to his children. "Rich men will be the downfall of our world. They meddle in things they do not fully understand and think everything will be alright because, hey, _they're rich._ Never trust one."

Pietro and Wanda nod, though their young brains understand only a little. Pietro thinks being rich sounds nice, and Wanda tries to understand what people could do with enough money to throw half of it away and still be unaffected.

The loud shaking interrupts the conversation. Shaking isn't new for them, as earthquakes are quite common, but the noise usually isn't this loud. Then the screams start, and all of them know this isn't an earthquake.

"They're here!" Mother cries, gathering up Wanda. She picks her up and runs her to the room. Father grabs Pietro's shoulders firmly.

"You watch out for your sister, alright? You stay with her, and no matter what, don't leave her. She needs you, okay? Never let her out of your sight. You do whatever it takes to stay alive, and do it for the both of you. Understand me?" His father's gaze is intense and so tight it almost hurts Pietro.

"I promise," he says, though he doesn't understand. All he knows is that bad guys are coming, and his parents are going somewhere and leaving him alone with Wanda.

"Good. Now go to your room and hid under the bed, and don't come out until it's safe. Go!"

Pietro follows his instructions and sees Wanda hugging their mother tightly, tears streaming down her face. Wanda rarely cries, so Pietro knows something is up.

Their mother runs out to join their father, and Wanda pulls her brother with her under the bed. Nowhere is safe in their house, but staying under the bed provides some protection. As Pietro slides under he grabs Wanda's favourite doll and hands it to her. She holds it tightly to her chest, a scared look in her eyes.

"It's going to be okay," he reassures her. "I'm here."

* * *

Mother sets down Wanda gently in the room, then embraces her and whispers into her ear. "Your father and I need to go out and see if we can help the others. You stay here with Pietro, understood? Don't come out. I love you Wanda, and I love Pietro, but you need to protect him. Stay with him, watch out for him. He's impulsive, and he needs you to help him think things through. Stay with him and everything will be alright. Hide under the bed, now. Make sure Pietro follows suit. Okay? I love you, baby."

"I love you too," Wanda sniffs. "I'm scared, mommy. Are you going to be okay?"

"I hope so, baby, I hope so." Pietro comes in, and her mother lets her go, exiting the room. Wanda follows her mother's instructions and leads Pietro under the bed. He gives her her doll, and she holds it closely, relieved to have something familiar and nice.

They lay for a few seconds after Pietro tells her it's going to be okay, listening to bombs and gunfire everywhere. Less than a minute passes by before their entire house shakes, cracks webbing the walls and the whole opposite wall exploding.

"Do you think…do you think Mother and Father made it out?" Wanda asks, scared to hear the answer.

"I don't know," Pietro replies honestly. His childish face is scrunched up in pain and concern. "I can go see." He starts to slid out, but Wanda stops him.

"They told us to wait here," she tells him. "We need to listen to them."

For the next few hours they hide, their little minds tramatized further at every scream, every gunshot, and every bomb that hits close. They shake with fear, their hearts racing the whole time.

Finally their worst nightmare comes to pass. A bomb falls and lands right in the rubble from the wall, only feet away from them. Wanda closes her eyes and huddles closer to Pietro, whispering prayers under her breath. Pietro also closes his eyes, though a few seconds later he opens them. Once he sees the lettering on the weapon his eyes narrow and he nudges his sister. "Look."

Inscribed on the missile in red lettering is **Stark Industries.**

"Why do they take everything away from us?" Wanda cries. "We barely have anything to start with, and yet the rich people take more and more."

"Greed eats them up," Pietro agrees. "They never have enough."

Then the two of them hold each other and wait for the bomb to explode, shallow breaths and racing hearts the only thing they can hear in the moment. Finally they drift off to sleep, each knowing they won't wake up.


	2. From Ashes We Rise

Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers: Age of Ultron

Rating: T for violence

Author's Note: A lot of positive reviews! Thanks, you guys are awesome! Here's another chapter, though this one is a little shorter. (Though this one follows directly after the first chapter not all of them will be in order or occur immediatly after a previous one) Once again, I'm not sure how often I'll update, so just check up once or twice a week :)

Story 2: From Ashes We Rise

Pietro is the first to wake. He tries to sit up, and hits his forehead against something hard. His hazel eyes open, pupils enlarging to adjust to the darkness. He's hit a bedframe. Looking around, he sees Wanda sleeping on one side of him, the other side covered in rubble and beams of pale light.

In a flash everything comes back. The bombs, hiding, his father's words. Everything that makes up the worst moment of his life.

But how did they survive? Pietro looks over and sees the bomb still sitting on the rubble, the awful name plastered on it in the sickening red lettering. It didn't go off. For some reason the bomb didn't go off and they're still alive.

He nudges Wanda, and she stirs. Her brown eyes blink, and open wide, confused, and scared. He quickly explains the bomb didn't go off.

"So are we safe now?" she asks, clutching her ragtag doll closer. In all the irregulties of the past few hours, the doll is the closet thing she has to familiar. Pietro wishes he has something from home to hold close, to cherish, and to comfort himself.

"I don't know. I'm going to look," he replies, starting to scoot out. There's no point in staying hidden any longer.

"I'm going too," Wanda says, following him.

"No, you stay. It might not be safe. And I don't want you—"

"We do it together or not at all," Wanda stubbornly insists, and Pietro nods after hesitating a moment. He is only a few minutes older than her, and she is mature enough. Plus, if something happens to them it happens to both of them. Harder to separate them from each other.

He helps her slide out, and when they're standing they can fully appreciate the damage that has been caused. Hiding under the bed had been the only reason they survived; a pile of rubble lays on everything, even on the sagging mattress.

Pale light filters in through the holes in the walls and ceilings, casting a sort of heavenly light on everything, though the situation is far from heavenly. Dust floats thickly in the air, causing them to cough before they grow accustomed to it.

They progress on, carefully stepping over the bomb and picking through the piles off rubble to get out of the room. The kitchen isn't even a room anymore; the walls are completely blown down, the sparse furniture buried under grey and brown wreckage.

Near the door the two see a hint of bright color. Terrified of what it might be, they continue on, though much slower. Pietro and Wanda share a glance.

"You don't have to," Wanda assures him quietly. "If you don't—"

"I have to," he replies. If she can stomach what they might see then he surely can too. He is the older sibling, after all. Besides, they have to stay together, not matter what. They have to be there for each other.

The sight is worse than either of them could have imagined. Two bodies, laying side by side, partially covered in rubble, lie where the door should be. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know who the bodies belonged to.

The color they'd seen is blood. Their parent's blood.

Pietro feels pain well up in him. Pain, and sorrow, beyond anything he's ever felt. Near him, Wanda stands stiffly, tears streaking her peaceful face. If not for the tears she'd be a statue, immortal and firm in her standing. She's the kind of person that takes everything in and carries it, every burden and weight no matter how heavy. She locks it all up inside, shoves it in a dark corner and only lets it out when she's alone.

Pietro, on other hand, is the exact opposite. He doesn't know how to cope. He doesn't know what to do, where to go, how to take care of his sister. This is too much responsibility for his ten-year-old self. More than the grief, however, rage fills him. Rage at Stark, rage at himself for abbandoning his parents, rage at the world for taking everything he ever had and destroying it. He yells, letting it out, and hits the remainder of the wall with a fist as hard as he can.

More pain, this time in his body, not his mind. His hand throbs, and it bleeds. He doesn't mind so much, since all he can feel is the pain of losing his parents. His family.

Wanda comes over to him, finally tearing her stare off the corpses, and holds his injured hand in hers comfortingly. She doesn't chastise him for his outburst or for being stupid enough to hurt himself, she just holds his hand and searches for something to help. Picking through the rubble with her free hand, she finds a relatively clean swath of fabric and uses it to wrap up his hand. Then she holds both of them gently in her own.

"Listen to me, Pietro," she says softly. "We need to go. We need to find shelter and food, and we need to get away. We need to leave this behind to move on."

"But these are our parents lying dead there!" he protests, and Wanda catches his eyes.

"I know. It hurts, more than anything else, but they would want us to move on. There's nothing we can do for them now. It's over for them, but it's just the beginning for us. Come on."

She drops one of his hands as she steps over the old doorframe and he follows, his one hand still in hers. She's the only life-line to reality for him, her touch the only thing keeping him tethered to the present.

Finally he fixates his eyes forward and follows her, and hand-in-hand the two of them walk toward a future. Not a necessarily bright one, but it's something, more than either of them can take for granted. After all, they still have each other.

As they walk, Wanda opens her hand and lets the doll fall, and with it her childhood. She's letting them go, letting them become a thing of the past.

If they are to survive they will have to keep looking forward, no matter what the personal cost.


	3. Clutch of Thieves

Disclaimer: I do not own _Avengers: Age of Ultron_

Rating: T for violence

Author's Note: Hey! Finally updated again :) This next short story takes place two years from the time when their parents died. Enjoy!

Story 3: Clutch of Thieves

Pietro and Wanda hide behind a garbage can, hearts racing. Their stomachs growl, threatening to betray them, but luckily a particularly noisy motorcycle races past, covering up the sound.

Neither of the two has eaten for days. Water is easy, they just find a well and take some, but food is much harder to come by, especially for two orphaned and growing kids. It's been two years since they've been on their own, two years of hardships and fighting for scraps to just keep them going.

Pietro blames himself the most. He's the oldest, and he's the one who is supposed to provide for her, to keep her well fed and safe. Father had been the one to specifically instruct him to take charge, yet she is the one who often comes up with the plans. She strategizes, Pietro gets his hands dirty. They make a great team, ying and yang as they are.

As much as he wishes he could be the one to do the work their system keeps them alive, and the constant battle against hunger, getting caught by the authorities, and just simply trying to stay alive helps them forget the pain and sadness of their parent's deaths. And throughout all the years, all the days of just surviving, both keep a dark, hidden rage and yearn for vengeance against Tony Stark.

In front of them the food vendors were packing up. Wanda had come here the evening before to scout out the area, and her discoveries were invaluable: the remaining venders in the market always met near dusk in the center to talk, leaving the immediate premises of their carts for a few minutes. The window is brief, especially since they are close enough to see any would-be thieves picking through their carts, but Pietro is fast and small, the perfect combo for a little grab-n-go.

"Can I go now?" Pietro asks, inching forward a little. He's skinny, dangerously so, and only their goal of survival and passion of getting revenge is the only thing that keeps them going. Wanda holds up a hand, her small brown eyes watching the men carefully. They begin to pack up a little, and drift towards the center.

"Now," she instructs, and Pietro speeds away from the garbage bin, ducking low to avoid notice. Wanda watches, air stuck in her throat, as Pietro uses garbage and doorways to hide behind as he makes his way towards the carts. They've done grab-and-go routines countless times, and there hasn't been one yet that she doesn't fear for him. The penalty for stealing is harsh, and she can't lose him.

Pietro is all she has left.

Pietro steals behind the first cart, a smelly place with greasy food. He decides this won't work for them, and moves on to the next, keeping one eye on the talking vender owners. The next cart has fruits, and he tucks them into a burlap bag slung around his shoulder. Apples, bananas, and some assorted citrus fruit are all his for the taking. Moving on, he reaches the next cart.

He has enough food for the two of them to live on for a few more days, but for once he wants something besides fruits and vegetables. He wants something spicy, something savory, something _different._

Looking up, he catches Wanda's eyes from where she's hiding. She has a scared and disapproving look on her face, as if she can't believe he's still lingering. _Well, she won't think that way when there's enough food to fill her stomach for once_ , he thinks, and he breaks the eye contact.

The third cart in line has definite spicy food in cardboard containers. He opens one and smells orange and chicken, and he knows it's an Asian food. He sticks that one, and one filled with rice, in his bag before loading a few other unknown but good-smelling containers in. The bag is full by the time he continues down the line.

Part of him is screaming at him that he's done enough, that he needs to go back to his sister. If he gets caught, this, and the two previous years of hard survival, will all be for naught, but he can't help but want to provide something more than just what is necessary. Pietro wants to make Wanda happy. He wants them to have a good life.

At the next cart he finds some assorted beverages, and he manages to shove them into his bag. The temptation to move on to the next stall is pressing, but instead he starts creeping back to his sister, knowing that to go on isn't worth it. He's all the way at the first cart when he hears the men starting to return.

If he sprints now the men will see him, but he might be able to escape. Pietro shoots a look at Wanda, who has retreated a little, though her serious eyes still shine out. She's sad, an expression he doesn't usually see from her.

She's sad she might lose her brother.

Pietro sprints, faster than ever. He can't leave her alone. He has to stay with her, be the man his father told him to be.

Wanda sees him running and as soon as he reaches her she continues running beside him. She's not nearly as fast, but unlike the men who are chasing them, they have a reason to run. They run, they survive. What do those men lose? A little bit of merchandise that will total up to a handful of coins. Nothing, really, in the grand scheme of their lives. But this food is everything to the Maximoff twins.

The men finally stop, but the twins keep running. They run until they reach the fringe of the village, where the poorer, poverty- stricken people reside. Pietro and Wanda find themselves a dark corner, and there they set up their camp for the night.

Their belongings are little and old, most scavenged or stolen. Wanda has a bag, and in it are two blankets, an umbrella with a few holes, one change of clothes, and a few pieces of dining ware.

Laying out the blankets and dining ware, the two divide up the food into equal piles. They will stretch it out as long as it will last before it goes bad; the fruit will last maybe a week, the spicy Asian food two, maybe three days.

Wanda speaks for the first time since the daring escape. "I worried about you."

"What? You thought I wouldn't make it?" Pietro teases, though deep inside he is still shaken. He can't begin to imagine how badly things could've ended.

"Pietro," Wanda chastises in a light tone. "I'm thankful you got us this food—"

"Then eat it," he says, dishing the night's allotment onto her chipped plate. He serves himself up and they eat in silence, the sky slowly darkening above them.

The food is amazing, the contrast between what they normally have and this being like black and white. The food is filling, and it's actually something they can bite into for once, not just the flesh of fresh fruit.

"Whatever this stuff is, I should get it more often," Pietro remarks as he scarfs it down. "I can feel myself getting fatter."

Wanda laughs. "Eat this everyday and maybe you'll be as fat as the American tourists."

Pietro smiles, failing to think of himself as fat. His whole life has been just scraping by (though he did eat better when his parents were still around) and never once has anyone worried about gaining too much weight. If anything, he _needs_ to get some fat on him.

"Their life doesn't seem that bad," he counters. "Walking around, babbling in a strange language, taking photos of trees and grass and other mundane things. They certainly don't have to worry about living for another day."

"But what _do_ they live for?" Wanda asks. "Do they even have something or someone they live for? Or are they just mindlessly floating around this life, trying to enjoy it with no aims or means?"

"What does it matter?" Pietro doesn't see where she's going. He can care less about having something to live for if he can have three meals a day, a home, clothing, and extra money for leisure activities.

"It's not a life if it isn't lived for something," Wanda explains. "You and I—we have a better life than they."

"We do?" He finds that hard to believe.

"We have each other, and every day we're reminded of that. Every day we fight to stay together, to keep each other safe. And when we finally rise from this poverty, we have a goal—avenge our parents."

"I still think having plenty of food all the time is perfectly fine," Pietro mutters. Wanda lays back on the blanket, looking up at the sky. The stars are bright tonight, creating beautiful constellations.

"One day everything will be okay," she tells him. "We'll be at peace with our parent's deaths, we'll have plenty of food, and we'll have each other."

"How do you know?" he asks, laying down beside her and gazing up also.

"Because it's written in our skies."


	4. A Deal with the Devil

Disclaimer: I do not own _Avengers: Age of Ultron_

Rating: T for violence

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait, I've just been incredibly busy. I hope you like this chapter. It's set several years after the last one. This focuses a lot on them being together and never leaving each other (inspired by "Stand By Me", which I've been listening to recently...you should really look up the Imagine Dragons cover of it, it's amazing!)

Story 4: A Deal with the Devil

Pietro races back to the hidden alley in which he and Wanda have been hiding out in. He clutches the paper tightly in his hands, knowing it might be the answer to all their problems. It's a long shot, but maybe this is the answer they've been looking for all their years. Maybe this is what the stars have written for them.

Wanda stands when she sees him running, and instantly concern passes over her face. She holds both of his arms, rubbing them up and down gently as he breathes deeply to regain his breath. She notices the paper but does not say anything. They've made an unspoken pact over the years; neither assumes anything and instead allows the other time to explain.

When he finally straightens up she speaks immediatly. "Are you okay?"

He nods, over enthusiastic. "More than okay." He shows her the papers, and she lets go of him to read them. He watches her carefully, but she does not show any of the joy he felt. Instead her expression is quizzical and slightly horrified.

"What is this?" She's angry, that much he can glean from her tone. Her hazel eyes flash and he feels his heart drop.

"Answers, Wanda. This is the answer to our problems." She turns away from him and rakes her hands through her hair, a habit she's created from worry and frustration.

"This is not an answer!" she yells, though not harshly. Wanda turns again and locks eyes with him from a few feet away. "Have you forgotten our ancestors?"

Pietro drops his hands in defeat. "No, I have not forgotten them. But have you forgotten our parents?"

She swallows, and her eyes harden. "How could I forget?"

Now he's getting through to her. After all this time, now that they've found an answer, he's finally convincing her. "We can avenge them."

"It won't bring them back," she replies quietly, and her words hit home. No matter what vengeance they can wreak, no matter who they kill or who they make suffer, nothing will bring their parents back. That's the ugly truth, and he doesn't want to accept it. Though both he and Wanda want to take revenge, she has always known it won't change anything, while he has always hung by a thread of hope. Of course, it's a foolish and stupid hope, and he is realizing it more and more every day.

"Then what are we to do?" he asks quietly. "Stand by and do nothing? This is our best choice."

Wanda glances at the papers, still in her hands, and looks up at him in disbelief. "Human experimentation is never a good choice, let alone 'our best choice.'" She walks toward him, her eyes softening at the hurt expression in his blue ones. "It even says here that it's dangerous and possibly fatal. We are selling ourselves to them. We are selling our bodies, our minds, our _souls_. We are making a deal with the devil."

He holds her close, knowing their time together might be limited. She is slowly being convinced to do this, and while he wants to go through with it, he knows it can mean the end of their dynamic duo. " _You_ are my soul. We're going to be in this together, no matter what."

"I still don't think it is a good idea." She looks up at him, her innocent eyes pleading. "These...monsters, they are Nazis. They invented the meaning of genocide, and our ancestors were victims of their cruel experiments and their tortures. You've heard their stories. And now you want to give yourself to them?"

"It's HYDRA, not Hitler," Pietro protests weakly, though he knows it isn't much of an argument.

"Doesn't change what they've done," Wanda says, and buries her face in his shoulder. He wraps his arms around her, and they embrace, letting the world fall away, and lettign all their problems disappear. All they need is each other; they're two halves of the same person. Pietro is the heart, Wanda the brain, and together they're a force to be reckoned with.

After a few minutes, Pietro tentatively prompts her. "So..."

"I love you, brother," Wanda answers. "And I trust you. Whatever you do I'll do, wherever you go I'll go, and whatever you say I'll back up." She looks up at him. "If you think this is the answer, then I'll support you. As long as we're together."

Pietro can't hide the relief on his face. "We will be. We'll get through this, and we'll make it through whatever they put us through. After all, we do have an advantage over them, over everyone on this planet."

She tilts her head. "And what is that?"

"It's just us against the world," he replies. "And no one can defeat us. And when the experiments are over and physically we're the strongest humans ever, then we'll avenge our parents, and after that we'll destroy them, for our ancestors. No one will ever be able to separate us."

Wanda smiles softly. "I guess I'm stuck with you for a little while longer, huh?"

"I lived twelve minutes without you, so you'll have to live twelve minutes without me. No more, no less." He grins cheekily. "After all, what's a twin without their other half?"

She laughs and pulls away from him. "They'll be the worst twelve minutes of my life, I guarantee it. Just like those twelve minutes without me were your worst minutes."

He grabs her hand. "Come. Let's go do something special for once."

She raises her eyebrow. "Like a last meal?" Pietro rolls his eyes. "You're too uptight. This is exactly why you need me; I'm the fun twin. And the attractive one. And-"

"You better not be saying the smart one," Wanda threatens playfully. "That's one thing I can lord over you."

"True. Otherwise I wouldn't have even thought about 'selling my soul' as you so kindly put it." He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and the two walk off, leaving behind everything that they know and love. Because, really, there isn't anything that they're leaving behind; all they have is each other, and that's all they will ever have.


	5. Clouds Above Us Crying

Disclaimer: I do not own _Avengers: Age of Ultron_

Rating: T for violence

Author's Note: Hey! Sorry for the long wait, I've been busy. So this chapter is during the experimentation, set not long after the last chapter. The title of this story, _Clouds Above Us Crying,_ comes from lyrics in the song "Clouds" by Imagine Dragons, which inspired much of this short story. The lullaby near the end is in Romanian, since AoU never exactly confirmed which country the Maximoffs are from, so I took some writing liberties. Enjoy! :)

Story 5: Clouds Above Us Crying

Pain. Pain in hot, fiery form has taken over her. Wanda's body moves of its own accord, thrashing and twisting and turning, trying to expel and end the pain inside of her. It's eating her up, consuming her. She's _becoming_ the pain.

The only reason why she doesn't fall of the medical cot is because of the straps holding her forehead, wrists, waist, and ankles. They're like bonds, keeping her prisoner to her own body and her own pain. If only she could break them and roll over, then she'd fall to the floor and be able to escape. If, of course, she managed to find the energy to pick herself up and run, and she'd run until she collapsed and died. It would be the only way to end this horrific pain.

Why had she let herself do this? Why had she volunteered to be experimented on, to be injected with serums and enhanced by a glowing blue gem? It hurts so much, and she feels like she's drowning in a lake of fire without anything to hold on to, without a reason to keep her head above water.

Everything up to this point in her life is worth nothing. Everything she's ever owned, everything she's ever loved, everyone she's ever met-it's all for nothing. Her life is for nothing, and she's going to die here, consumed by pain and by herself. Alone.

Her two worst fears. Dying without fulfilling her life's purpose, and dying alone. And both of those are happening right now. Wanda feels despair rise up in her; she doesn't want to die alone. She doesn't want to die here, in the hands of her enemy. She doesn't want this. She didn't ask for this.

The sob she'd been building up finally is released, and with it comes the tears. She's been holding onto all her emotions for so long, bottling them up and tucking them away, and now they're all coming up. Years of terror and fear and helplessness and hopelessness, it's all coming up and emptying out. Wanda has prided herself for so long on not crying, for not letting her real emotions show unless they were ones of happiness and pride, but now it's all coming out, and she lets it.

It seems like forever and a season of tears when the torrent finally lets up, and she slumps back down, limp and lifeless. Oh, she's still alive physically, but mentally everything is shorting out, fading into nothing.

Then she hears his voice. His strained, far away voice calling. It's like ambrosia of the gods, and it brings life back into her. Wanda's eyes snap open, and she struggles against her bonds. _I need to get to him. I need to get to him._

It gives her purpose, and she manages to sideline the pain. His voice helps, like cool water against burning skin. She calls back, her voice rough and cracking, but if it helps him as much as his voice helps her then she'll try, no matter what the consequence. She's not going to die alone, not as long as she can hear his voice.

It carries her, and she manages to calm down enough to slowly and carefully feel the leather straps, unhitch them, and slide unceremoniously to the floor. It doesn't even hurt, the pain already inside of her conquering, but she still crawls forward. His voice anchors her, and brings her into land from the sea she's drowning in. She only needs him, and he needs her, so she pushes her way forward, crawling to her safety and freedom. She needs this to keep her sane, to keep her alive.

His voice is loud, but still far away by the time she reaches the far wall. It's as close as she can get to him, but it is enough. She places her hand firmly against the wall, trying to press close to him. "Pietro," she cries, swallowing back another sob. "Pietro, I'm here."

"Hold on, Wanda," his voice replies, and she slumps against the wall, curling into a ball, trying to somehow get closer to him. He starts talking again, but she realises it isn't talking-he's trying to sing, and he's singing an old song that their mother used to sing to them when they were younger. It would calm them down when there was a raging storm or when the bombs and bullets sounded in the villages near theirs.

 _"Podul de piatră s-a dărâmat_  
 _A venit apa şi l-a luat_  
 _Vom face altul pe riu, în jos_  
 _Altul mai trainic şi mai frumos!_  
 _Vom face altul pe riu, în jos_  
 _Altul mai trainic şi mai frumos!"_

The words wash over her and comfort her, and she relaxes, and begins to think of the sky and of the large, lazy clouds that drift over. From down on the ground they look like they're crawling, barely moving, but from up there they are going up to speeds of fifty miles an hour. Clouds are such interesting and complex things. They make beautiful and cool shapes by accident, and even though they look like cotton candy they're actually made of water and water droplets.

Their mother always used to say the sky reflects the soul. If you're feeling sad then it will rain, and if you're happy then it should be bright and sunny. It you're confused and scared it will be stormy.

It's not true, Wanda knows, but its a fun fantasy. And she continues it, since she has nothing else, and because she has to fight to stay lucid. She dreams of her mother being up there, up above the clouds, looking down and watching her children. Her mother is probably making the clouds pour and pour and cry, because she'd be disappointed and sad for her children. Her children, who won't let go of their bitterness. Her children, who handed themselves into the hands of their enemies. Her children, who are slowly dying, bogged down by pain and suffering and scraping by.

Yes, Wanda knows the clouds above are crying, and her mother, up in heaven, is crying also. And she doesn't want them to cry forever, so she steels herself to ride this out, to survive. They have to, so that one day the clouds can stop crying and the sun can emerge again.

After all, their mother has taught them from the beginning to keep going.

 _The stone bridge broke down,_  
 _The water came and took it down!_  
 _We'll build another one,_  
 _Another one that will last and is even more beautiful!_  
 _We'll build another one,_  
 _Another one that will last and is even more beautiful!_

Wanda lets her hand slide down from the wall as she drifted off to sleep, Pietro's voice and her mother's words still echoing in her mind.


	6. Playground For A Ghost

Author's Note: Decided to update "on time" for once. Anyway, this chapter is set when the twins are about twelve, and has some...odd things in it. It's a little different content than I usually would write, but I hope you like it nonetheless.

Story 6: Playground For A Ghost

It is near the end of autumn when they first discover the playground. The wind is crisp and is only growing colder, ripping through the bare threads of fabric Pietro and Wanda call clothes. The leaves from the trees fall lethargically to the ground from the mostly bare branches, and the nights are growing longer, the days shorter. Color is slowly seeping out of the world, making it one grey and brown mess.

The whole setting is a little creepy, even by Wanda's standards, and she's seen the worst the world can offer. Pietro had been the one do find this hermetical place, hidden deep into a forest and overgrown with years of brush and grass. Still the wooden structures stand tall, even if the foundations are beginning to rot. Two swings rock back and forth in the chilly breeze, the rope frayed but still holding on. The aluminum coated slide is rusted, and the ladder up to it is missing a few rungs. The sand pit has long since hosted dirt and a variety of ants, the old toys broken, worn away, or buried.

There's something about this place, something that makes Wanda feel a chill deeper than the cold of the air. This place seems dark, almost...evil. She wants to go, to leave, but Pietro is running ahead, grinning like the little maniac he is.

She wants to leave right away, but she knows Pietro will make fun of her, so she breathes in the stale air, lets it out, and crosses her arms. He's probably scared, too, that's why he brought her-if she demands to go before he does, then he'll feel more confident. It's a running theme she's noticed in boys. _So stupid_ , she thinks to herself.

"Come swing with me, Wanda!" Pietro calls, stretching his feet out, trying to give himself a push from the wooden plank. He's failing, and it's so ridiculous Wanda almost forgets about the bad feeling.

"You're going to get splinters up your ass," she laughs, jutting one hip out and tightening her crossed arms. "And I'm not going to help you pick them out."

Pietro looks up, a little fear in his eyes at the thought of that. He swallows and tucks it away with a little nervous laugh. "Don't be so dramatic. At least come and push me."

Wanda jogs over, secretly glad to be closer to her brother. This place is really beginning to scare her. She feels like they shouldn't be there, but she pushes the thought away. As long as she's with Pietro she should be okay. He promised her, and she trusts him.

She stands behind Pietro and begins to push him, gently at first until he complains, and then she pushes his harder, stepping out of the way. Pietro starts pumping his legs, getting himself higher and higher. Wanda crosses her arms again and looks at the surrounding area, suddenly unnerved. A movement in the corner of her eyes makes her turn suddenly, but she doesn't see anything. It doesn't change the feeling of being _unwelcome_ and _in the wrong place at the wrong time._

"Are you done yet?" she asks up at Pietro, who has stopped pumping and is slowly swinging nearer and nearer to the ground. He grins cheekily at her.

"Scared?" he teases, and Wanda narrows her eyes. Of course she isn't. She'll beat him at his own game, if it's the last thing she does.

"No. I'm just cold. And hungry." She stares him down, daring him to challenge her. He doesn't, and instead lets his feet touch the ground, jumping off the swing.

"I haven't tried out the slide yet," he answers, and walks, _slowly_ , over to the structure. Wanda clenches her fists and grinds her teeth but doesn't say a word.

That's when she sees them. Misty figures peeking out from behind trees, pale and emaciated, but still there. They are almost see through, and they wear old fashioned clothing. They're children; all of them. The girls have bows in their hair, the strands styled with tight curls. The boys wear suspenders and have a strange hair parting.

It's their eyes that strike sheer terror into her; they're blank, but also filled with hunger. A terrible, raging, hunger.

And they're looking straight at her.

Wanda is frozen in fear. She can't move, can't do anything but stare back, her bones trembling in fear. She's shaking, harder than ever before, and tears fall freely without her willing them. She's never been this scared in her life.

Where is Pietro? Where is he?

Need to be near her brother, need to be with him, fills her and she managed to take a wild and quick glance backwards. Pietro is reaching the bottom of the slide, oblivious to the lost children watching them. Wanda takes a small step backwards, and her foot trips over something hard. She looks down, and through the grass and leaf covering sees a concrete block. A headstone.

That's when she breaks. She turns full on, sprinting towards Pietro. Fear is all she can feel, and all she is. She grabs Pietro's arm and runs, sprinting for her life. Pietro is surprised, but he follows her. Wanda keeps trying to swallow past the lump in her throat, but all she can think of are the dead children, the ghosts, watching them, their eyes filled with hunger. She lengthens her stride, running faster than Pietro for the first time in her life. Now he's the one struggling to keep up, but she can't revel in that due to the horror thriving in her.

Wanda doesn't know how long or far she runs, Pietro towing behind, but they end up in a dark alley in a city. She's sweating, and so is Pietro, and for a moment they just collapse on the ground, breathing hard and trembling from the exertion. When they finally recover enough, Pietro looks up, a smug smile on his face that falls quickly when he sees the terror in her face.

"What is it, Wanda?" he asks, suddenly empathetic. She curls up in a ball and sobs, letting out all the horror. He crawls over to her and holds her, and for a while she just lets it go.

"I-there was something very evil there, Pietro." Her voice cracks, and she breathes deeply. "Never go there again, brother. Promise me." Her tone is hard and firm, and he nods.

"I promise." He is silent for a moment before his curiousity takes over. "What exactly did you see?"

She looks away. "Something not meant for the living."


	7. In the Darkness

Disclaimer: I do not own _Avengers: Age of Ultron_

Rating: T for violence

Author's Note: I'm running out of ideas for these short stories, so if you have any suggestions then I will be more than willing to consider them. Also, this story takes place when the twins are around thirteen.

Story 7: In the Darkness

Pietro's feet patter almost silently across the stone street as he turns a corner. The street lamps are dim and old, and they cast an eerily light around the dark of the night. He sees the shadow of a monster displayed against the side of a building and he jumps in fright before realising it is his own.

Normally he loves running, but it isn't the case tonight. He just wants to get home - well, to the alley they call "home" - and find Wanda. But he's lost, lost in the darkness of the city, the maze of streets and alleys dangerous and cold, and he's scared, oh, so scared.

Living in a poor, third world country is hard enough, but wandering lost in the streets at night? Dangerous. Pietro knows he shouldn't have tried to take the shortcut back, but he, being the hothead he is, tried it anyway. And look where it brought him.

More than he is scared, though, he's worried. He knows Wanda is strong and able on her own, but she is a girl, and a girl traveling by herself is in even more danger than a guy. What if someone finds her before Pietro gets there? What if she goes out looking for him and is in danger right now? What if the government catches her and shoves her in an orphanage? He can't be there to help her, and it will all be his fault. And all because he did something as stupid as trying to take a shortcut in a city he's not overly familiar with.

Pietro turns a corner and stumbles right into the middle of a drug deal. Well, not quite in the middle of it, but it's happening right before his eyes. Homeless addicts dressed in rags and covered in dirt and filth are in front of him, somehow managing to procure gold coins in exchange for the white powder in the plastic bags. Pietro knows these things go on in the cities, but he's never stumbled upon one before. Now he's even more frightened.

He's heard stories of what happens to people who see things they shouldn't. Especially when they're runaways who the government isn't particularly tracking. He could simply cease to exist, trapped in the wrong place at the wrong time and killed for it. Maybe someone would find his body dumped in a river or a dark alley.

Maybe Wanda would find his body.

A shudder runs through his body and Pietro covers behind some old crates, hoping the men don't notice him. He needs to get out, but even as he turns to sprint back he sees men in the distance coming up, coming to get their fix. Pietro slides against the wall of a building, still cowering under the crates. He hopes no one will be able to see him, though he can't be sure.

His heart rate rises and he tries to keep his frantic breathing quiet. He's never been this scared before, never been so frightened. There are about a dozen men right now, all of them big and grizzly and terrifying. Pietro knows Wanda will kill him when he gets back, so he decides not to tell her what happened. This fear in him, the way his body shakes and his breathing is fast, the way his heart feels like it's thundering, and his legs are like jelly - this is punishment enough. He knows he will never do something like this again.

Pietro is about to seize his chance to run, and he begins to creep out of hiding, when suddenly the sky opens up and begins to rain. The candles that the men had lit so they could do their business begin to flicker and go out, and the men are all grumbling and trying to find shelter. Pietro is still dry because there is an overhang above his head, but he realises this is a bad thing as the men start to come closer, gathering near his hiding place for shelter.

If he is to run he has to run now. Pietro stands from his crouch and starts sprinting, pumping his legs as fast as they go. His shoes are worn out and slippery against the cobblestones, and he slips and falls. The men began to shout and grab at him, but he is small enough to slip through as he pushes off the ground and starts running again.

A few of them are giving chase. Pietro knows they're probably faster than he, but he still pushes on. The rain is cold against his skin, and it gives him focus and resolve. Adrenaline pumps through him as he pushes himself to speeds he had not known were possible, and he is carefully not to slip. The men begin to fall behind him as he takes twists and turns through the streets, the maze-like setup to his advantage for once.

He begins to get a good idea of where he is, and Pietro makes them run circles before he loses them. It's becoming fun, like a game, and the fear from before is all but forgotten. A smile graces his face as he hears the last one trip and fall behind, barely pulling himself up with rasping breaths. Pietro, on the other hand, isn't tired in the least, and he runs full speed to the alley where Wanda is.

By the same he plunges out of the dim light of the street lamps and into the darkness of the alley he is soaking wet. He hears Wanda walking toward him, and he grabs her hand and grips it tight, not wanting her to embrace him and become wet herself but at the same time wanting her reassurance.

"What happened?" she asks, concerned, but Pietro just laughs.

"You should have seen how fast I ran! I outran more than six men!" He can't help the ever-growing smile on his face.

Wanda sighs, though he knows she's smiling, too. "Okay, Flash. I'm just glad you're alright."

Pietro remembers the fear he felt hiding behind those crates. "Me, too," he agrees. "Me, too."


	8. Stand By Me

Disclaimer: I do not own _Avengers: Age of Ultron_

Rating: T for violence

Author's Note: Hey! Decided to update early since I just watched _Ant-Man_ , which was amazing! _(Minor spoiler: the Falcon cameo part was just so unexpected and awesome I just can't)_

Thanks to **AsgardianGrizzly** (sorry!) for the idea of this one! I'm also still taking suggestions, so please, if you have any, give them out! In this story the twins are about 15-16

Story 8: Stand By Me

The streets of Sokovia are bustling on this day, and there's no wonder why. The sun is high overhead, bright but not burning, coupled magnificently with a cool breeze from the east. The trees are swaying back and forth, providing shade for livestock and tourists. The amazing smells of the market are in the air, and Pietro and Wanda feel lighthearted and happy as they walk hand in hand down the cobbled street.

So many people are around. Indian women pass by, their cotton sarees peach and pink and orange colours, a red dot underneath a black hairline, their bags smelling of strong spices. Asian men walk by, bowing deeply to each other and chattering in strange tongues. Americans, loud and noisy and obnoxious stop every two feet to take a picture.

Pietro and Wanda earn a few coins by helping people carry their goods to their vehicles or apartments, and eventually they have enough to go treat themselves. They slip into the enormous, bustling crowd and search out their favourite vendors.

Ahead is a stand with oranges, and the two head straight for it. Both of them absolutely love citrus fruits, though they are expensive and hard to get their hands on. Now, though, with the mix of all different cultures and people, everything is available for a decent price.

The stand is a little ways away from the rest of the crowd, and by the time the twins reach it there are no other customers within the immediate vicinity. The owner is a pale man with glasses and a permanent sneer, and Pietro instantly feels wary. Wanda, however, simply begins to examine the fruits and fawn over them, looking back at Pietro with her bright smile. He can't help but return it, the happiness on her face spreading to him. As long as she's happy, he's happy.

Wanda picks out a couple of the fruits, and she presents them to the vendor. He looks at them over his glasses before sliding the fruits in a bag.

"How much?" Wanda asks, reaching into her pocket for the spare coins they'd earned. The man began to smile in a way that made Pietro feel very uncomfortable and defensive.

"Well, I'd normally charge four Leu, but I think the two of us can negotiate a price," the man replies, and his eyes rove over Wanda possessively. Pietro feels an anger building in him, and his eyes narrow at the man.

Wanda, of course, picks up his meaning immediately. "What did you just say?" she questions with a cold tone, daring him to continue. The man simply smiles again, undaunted.

"A girl like you, and of your age..." he trails off, and suddenly there's a flying fist. Wanda. The man catches her wrist and twists, and Wanda cries out in pain. That's more than enough for Pietro to sweep in and start an onslaught against the man, letting out as much unrestrained and build up anger flow through him. The man falls to the ground, curling up to protect himself.

"Pietro!" Wanda chastises after a few seconds. "That's enough."

He pulls back, getting off the pale man now bleeding on the ground. Wanda puts her arm around Pietro's shoulders and gently pulls him away, cradling his bruised and bleeding hands in her own. They walk off quickly, hoping no one witnessed the fight.

Later, as Wanda is carefully and gently cleaning up his hands, she catches his eyes. "You didn't need to go at him so hard," she says softly.

"Yes, I did," Pietro insists. "Did you even hear what he said?"

"Of course I did. But we can't just go attacking everyone who suggests something," she instructs. "We need to save our anger, to store it away and then one day we can use it to wreak vengence for our parents."

Pietro feels a smile grow on his face. "What are you talking about? You threw the first punch!"

"I was going to stop after one," she confirms. "There's a difference between a lesson and a beating."

"Whatever, sister." He shakes his head, pulling his hands from hers. "I doubt he'll ever try to pull a move like that again."

Wanda laughs a little. "Yeah, especially if she already has a man." She and Pietro embrace, and though she doesn't say it she is infinitely grateful for having an older - but only by twelve minutes - and overly protective brother. One day something will happen, and she'll only get through it because of Pietro. He's always been there, and he always will be.

"Even if that man is your brother," Pietro teases. Wanda smiles into his shoulder, holding him tighter and closer.

"A brother is the only man a real woman ever needs."

Pietro pulls off of her, and looks her in the eye. "One day you won't think that way," he says with a smile. Then his eyes grow stormy again, and his mouth drops. "Just know, Wanda, that if anyone ever hurts you again...I don't know if you'll be able to stop me. I almost didn't today. You mean the world to me, and I'll always stand by you, but I can't guarantee that I'll hear you over all that rage and anger." He swallows and looks away.

"Don't talk like that. You can always stop. And if there's anyone who can bring you back, it's me. I promise." Wanda wraps her hands around his neck. "Don't worry."

Pietro feels himself smile again, a weight lifting from his chest. "How can I worry with you doing all the worrying?"


End file.
